Fragments
by Twilight Phantom Dragon
Summary: It's the little moments of life and un-life that make life what it is. A collection of Buffy one-shots and drabbles varying in genre, pairing, and rating.
1. Barbie Thief

**Author's Notes: I'm starting a collection where I can put all my Buffy one-shots and drabbles, so they'll be in one neat place. They'll be in a range of genres from romance or friendship to comedy or angst. None of the stories will exceed T. As for pairings, I'll write a variety of them. Length will differ as well with stories shorter than this and stories longer than this. **

**Characters: Willow, Xander **

**Pairing: Willow/Xander (though it's more friendship than romance)**

**Setting: Pre-series **

**Warnings: None**

**Notes: Inspired by the conversation between Buffy and Willow in 'Welcome to the Hellmouth' about Willow dating Xander.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy. I'm just playing with the characters. I also don't own Barbie. **

**Barbie Thief**

"Do you want to go out?" Xander asked.

"We can't." The smile dropped off the boy's face, but reappeared as Willow continued, "We're already outside." She gestured around the green yard.

"No, I meant: do you want to go out? With _me_?"

"Oh… Oh!" Willow's cheeks flushed momentarily. Then she nodded with a beaming smile. "Okay! I'll go out with you."

Xander smiled back.

"So what do people who are going out do?"

"That's an easy one." Willow waited for him expectantly. Xander frowned. "Okay, maybe not so easy..."

They sat together quietly, trying to remember everything they had ever seen a couple do, both in movies and in reality. Willow started first, "Well, I see boys and girls kissing in the mall sometimes. Except it kinda looks like they're trying to suck each other's faces off."

Xander touched his cheek, frowning. "I don't want my face sucked off."

Willow nodded in agreement. She happened to like her face very much and if that's what dating was about, then she would skip. They fell back into silence.

"Couples go on dates!" Xander exclaimed. "Like to restaurants or movies."

"Well, neither of us can drive and I don't think my mom would want to drive us either…"

"We could make our own restaurant!" Willow watched him curiously as he continued to outline his plan, "We just need a table and some chairs and a waitress and some food…"

"And some candles! Nice restaurants always have candles."

"Right. Let's get to it."

Together, they went inside. Willow's mom was upstairs, working, so they weren't bothered by anyone as they quickly put together an impressive array of snack foods. They set plates out, but before Xander could start pouring chips on to the plate, Willow stopped him.

"We have to order our food first."

Xander nodded his head and put the chip bag to the side. "Who's going to be our waitress?"

Willow frowned. If Jesse had been here, he might have played along. But he wasn't here and they needed to get on with their date. Her eyes brightened. "I have an idea!"

The redhead ran off and soon returned with a Barbie. She smoothed the Barbie's hair back before placing her on the table. They stared at the inanimate doll. Willow sighed.

Xander said, "Well, we could just say we ordered before we came to the restaurant, so they had everything all set up when we got here."

It wasn't a perfect solution, but it would have to do since the Barbie couldn't actually fulfill any of their orders. They went back to placing the food out. Since they couldn't use the oven (Xander was for trying the microwave, but Willow was strict about the kitchen rules), they wound up only having chips, untoasted bread slices, Twinkies, and a juice box each.

Xander surveyed their layout and nodded his head; at the same time, Willow was shaking hers. The boy frowned. "What's wrong?"

"We forgot the candles."

"Do you have any?"

"Some birthday candles, but I don't think we have any nice candles."

He shrugged. "That's okay. We don't need candles. It's only a first date and we can pretend anyway."

"Okay…" Willow still looked concerned, but she brightened when Xander grabbed her hand.

"Well, here we are. The nicest and most expensive restaurant Sunnydale has to offer…" Xander faltered, face screwing up as he tried to come up with a name.

"Think of something French-y." Willow muttered under her breath. "The nicest restaurants always have French-y sounding names."

"Uh… Bon Appetite."

Willow gave him an incredulous look, but went along with it. "It's beautiful."

"Our table awaits!" Xander did an exaggerated bow, causing Willow to giggle.

They clambered up on to the chairs, Xander doing his best to push Willow's in (he managed to budge it an inch before giving up in pushing her in the entire way).

"We should bump our drinks. People are always doing that when eating out." Willow murmured as Xander grabbed a chip off his plate.

"Right." He grabbed his juice box, inserted the straw, and then bumped it with Willow's juice box. "To us."

She smiled and echoed, "To us."

- Later –

"Give me back my Barbie!" Willow shrieked, charging after Xander.

"Never!" He ran off, clutching the aforementioned doll in his hand.

Willow put an extra burst of speed on, barreling into Xander. She knocked into him, sending the two of them to the ground. They wrestled briefly and then Xander managed to squirm away. He ran a few steps away and then looked back. Willow was still on the ground where he had left her, trembling.

The excited smile faded from Xander's face. "Willow?"

"We're over!" Willow yelled.

"What?"

"Was I not clear enough? I am not your girlfriend anymore and I will never be your girlfriend again."

Silence fell. Willow continued to sit, silent tears dripping down her cheeks. Xander stood dumbfounded. He glanced down at the Barbie in his hand, feeling rather hollow. She had used her resolved voice; there was no way he was going to get her back.

Xander walked over and knelt beside her. He placed the doll down beside her and offered her a small smile. "Could we still be friends?"

Willow glanced down at the Barbie and then at his smile. She sniffed. "Fine." It was too hard to stay disdainful, so she grinned and said,

"We can still be friends."


	2. Like No Other Vampire

**Characters: Buffy, Angelus **

**Pairing: Bangelus**

**Time: Season 2, post-Passion but pre-Becoming **

**Warnings: None**

**Additional Notes: Not nearly as cute and happy as the previous piece… I did say I'd be writing in a variety of genres. More comments at the end because I don't want to spoil what happens. **

**Disclaimer: The genius that is Joss Whedon owns Buffy. I do not.**

**Like No Other Vampire**

Angelus watched over her still body with delightful glee in his eyes. She was so beautiful, even dead. He had placed her gently on the white sheets, her blonde tresses tastefully spread out like a halo around her head.

He ran a hand down her cheek to the bitemark on her neck. The mark was still there, but it would soon be gone.

In life, she had been righteous and brave. Now in death, he wondered what she would be like. Brave, certainly, and strong. Like no other vampire. She'd be twisted, eager to torture and rain damnation on the lives she had once protected. She'd be a fantastic lover to have by his side.

He imagined the two of them tearing Sunnydale apart. They'd start with her Watcher or perhaps one of her silly friends. He'd let Buffy torture them beforehand to see what kind of creativity she was capable of. Maybe give her some colorful suggestions if she wished though he was certain she'd have her own ideas. She'd always been resourceful in a fight and now she'd be resourceful in torture techniques as well.

After that, they'd wash the streets of Sunnydale with blood. Raze the whole town, just like he had destroyed his own village upon his rebirth. And then they would sleep together over all the death and destruction.

Angelus grinned and murmured, "Soon, lover, soon." He began stroking her hair.

After Sunnydale, they'd go someplace. Maybe they'd take a short road-trip to Los Angeles first, have some fun there, and then cross the country, wreaking havoc as they made their way to New York. After that, a boat ride to Europe and they could trek across the continent to reach Romania where he could exact revenge on the descendents of the gypsies.

A soft moan from Buffy shook Angelus from his thoughts. He looked down at her. Finally she was awakening. Finally they could start.

Buffy's eyes snapped open. They flicked around her surroundings, taking in the dark walls, the white sheets, and the vampire sitting by her.

Angelus watched her. Fledglings were always disoriented upon awakening and Buffy was no exception. But soon she'd be ready.

"You…"

Angelus smiled. "Yes. I turned you. Now we can-"

Before Angelus could finish, Buffy sat up and shoved him. He flew into the wall, crashing through it. Already she was stronger than the average vampire.

"You turned me!"

Fledglings were often hostile and difficult. Angelus had been ready for that and he picked himself up, brushing the dust off his black shirt.

"Buffy, don't be unreasonable. It's a good thing. Now who do you want to start with: Willow, Xander, or Giles?" He approached her as she got off the bed.

Buffy's eyes flashed with rage as she kicked Angelus. He slammed into a chair, breaking it upon impact. Damn, why'd she have to be so strong? Of course it would be wonderful once they got things rolling, but right now, it was just incredibly annoying.

"Do I have to get rough with you?" He growled, slipping into his demonic visage. "Or do you just want to make your pick, so we can go and eat already?"

"You don't get it." Buffy glared at him through tears. "I'm not going to eat anyone."

Angelus blinked and then a horrible thought dropped on his shoulders. One look at her eyes confirmed it.

No, it couldn't be true. That wasn't the way vampires were made; it went against every rule he'd ever heard of. Then again, when was the last time he'd run across a vampire who'd been a Slayer?

Buffy advanced on him, dropping down to his level. She grabbed one of the broken legs of the chair and held it close to his chest. He grabbed at her wrist and tried to push it away, but all he managed to do was slow the stake's progress.

"I didn't let go. I could feel it leaving, but I didn't let go." Tears dripped down her face and fell on to his. "You killed me, Angel. You tried to make me a monster, but I didn't want that."

As the stake penetrated his chest, all Angelus could think was that he'd been right. She was like no other vampire in the world.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The Slayer keeping her soul when becoming a vampire is a plot device I've seen around and while I like the idea of a psychotic Slayer-vamp more (imagine how scary that would be), I couldn't resist writing this. I'm really tempted to write some sort of sequel to this oneshot where she has an encounter with her friends, but we'll see. **


	3. A Slayer of My Own

**Characters: Wesley **

**Pairing: None**

**Time: Season 3**

**Warnings: None**

**Additional Notes: I'm currently watching season 3 of Angel and it's making me all nostalgic for the old dorky Wesley. It inspired this brief drabble. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy. Joss Whedon does. **

**A Slayer of My Own**

"Now that Rupert Giles is no longer Miss Summers' Watcher, you will step up to be her Watcher. Are you ready?"

"Oh yes," Wesley nodded his head enthusiastically before clearing his throat and reclaiming some dignity. "I will leave immediately."

"Good, good. I can trust that you'll keep her in line."

"Of course."

"Don't let me down."

"I won't." Wesley promised, already imagining what a wonderful job he would do and how happily the Slayer would greet him. A Slayer! He was getting his own Slayer to watch over!

"And keep an eye on Faith."

"Don't worry, sir, I'll keep everything under control."

Quentin Travers peered closely at Wesley before nodding his head. "I hope so. You're a promising young lad. Now go. Your flight will be leaving soon."

"Thank you."

On the flight to Sunnydale, Wesley eagerly reviewed _The Watcher's Handbook_ and fantasized about his warm welcome as Buffy's new Watcher.


	4. The Wabbit is Evil

**Characters: Xander, Anya**

**Pairing: Xanya**

**Time: Somewhere in season 4**

**Warnings: None**

**Additional Notes: I'm sure other people have done something similar before, but here's my version. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy. Joss Whedon does. I also don't own the wabbit. **

**The Wabbit is Evil**

Anya shrieked as the television turned on.

"What is it?" She pointed an accusatory finger at the screen. "Why is that evil creature on there?"

Xander laughed as he looked over, "That's just Bugs Bunny. I loved him when I was a kid."

From the way Xander watched the rabbit with rapt attention, it was clear to Anya that he still loved the cartoon. She crossed her arms.

"Well, I don't like him."

"Ahn, don't hold your hatred for bunnykind against Bugs. He's funny."

Anya huffed and settled into Xander's arms to watch the cartoon. A bald man in a brown hat crept on to the screen, holding a hunting rifle. He spoke with a high pitch, calling out for the "wabbit".

"Who's that?"

"Elmer Fudd. He's hunting Bugs Bunny."

"I like him."

"He's the bad guy!"

Anya watched the screen for a few seconds and then shook her head. "I don't see it. He's on a brave mission to kill an evil creature. That's exactly what we do every day."

Xander shook his head in disbelief. "Bugs Bunny doesn't belong in the league of evil with the kinda demons we fight."

"You're enslaved to his innocent face like the rest of the populace. One day, he'll lead a legion of rabbits to destroy humanity and you'll be wishing you hadn't kicked Elmer Fudd to the curb."

Xander sighed. "It's a show, Ahn. Elmer Fudd is the bad guy because he's always trying to kill Bugs Bunny. And he's also trying to kill some of the other animals, so it's not like he's only after rabbits."

Anya didn't care what Xander said about Elmer Fudd being the antagonist and hunting after other 'innocent' woodland critters. Elmer Fudd was still and would forever remain her hero.


	5. It'll Just Be a Friendly Workout

**Characters: Buffy, Angel**

**Pairing: Bangel**

**Time: Prior 'Revelations' **

**Warnings: None**

**Additional Notes: I'm not an expert in Tai Chi and I don't practice it, but I did look up enough videos and philosophies to hopefully make this as accurate as possible. Any practitioners can point out any mistakes (if I made any). **

**Disclaimer: These are Joss Whedon's toys. I'm just playing with them. **

**It'll Just Be a Friendly Work-out**

Buffy arrived at the mansion. When she didn't see Angel in the main room, she briefly felt a spout of panic rise in her before remembering that he was better and had moved on to other activities besides lounging around. With that thought, she went out to the moonlit gardens.

Angel stood in the middle of the courtyard, going through flowing motions similar to his earlier work-out. She watched, appreciating the lithe grace of the movements and his rippling muscles.

_Bad Buffy, I'm not supposed to be admiring him like that. Not anymore. _

Yet she couldn't tear her eyes away. He looked so peaceful. It was impossible to tell he'd been in Hell with his relaxed facial muscles and gentle movements. Buffy leaned against the archway to watch, entranced by the serenity of the moment.

Despite her best attempts at not disrupting him, Angel stopped and looked over at her. He gave her a small smile. "Buffy."

She resisted the urge to pout. "Don't let me stop you from doing… What were you doing?"

"Tai Chi. It's a form of martial arts."

Buffy thought back to the cheesy martial arts movies she'd once enjoyed watching (and now enjoyed ridiculing and poking at) and then to her own training with Giles. "It doesn't look like any martial arts I've seen. Can you use it to fight?"

"Yes."

"How? There doesn't seem to be a lot of kicking or punching going on."

It had a more streamlined quality to it. Gentle and fluid like a river. Not like the speed and sharpness of the forms she usually did.

He smirked. "Not everything is about kicking and punching."

"No, some things are about stabbing."

Both of them quieted instantly. Buffy's eyes fell to the ground as she mentally berated herself for bringing up stabbing. Why stabbing? Why not staking or chopping or beheading? Why stabbing of all things?

Finally Angel broke the silence to explain, "Instead of brute force, Tai Chi uses softness and pliability. It's about defense and counterattacking. When an attack comes, instead of meeting it head-on, you redirect it." Angel got back into position, feet planted solidly at shoulder length. "Come at me and I'll show you."

Buffy glanced up, the moment of awkwardness forgotten in the anticipation of learning something from the vampire.

She ran at him and threw a straightforward punch, restraining both her speed and strength. He grabbed her wrist and using her momentum, smoothly directed the punch to the side. Meanwhile, his other hand had whipped out in a circular arc to stop a few millimeters from her temple.

"I guess you've got me…" Buffy smirked. "But if I'd been going at full power, it wouldn't have worked."

Angel shrugged, releasing her. "It's also a good way to stretch and relax." He paused and then offered, "I can teach you if you want."

Buffy smiled at him. "I'd like that."


	6. Love Me

**Characters: Buffy, Spike**

**Pairing: Spuffy **

**Time: Season 6, post "As You Were" **

**Warnings: Language**

**Additional Notes: Locked in a Stony Tower gave me the prompt to write Season2!Spike or Season5/6!Spike turning Buffy into a vampire. I chose the InLove!Spike because there was a more interesting angle to explore there (although I can imagine Angel/Angelus' reaction to Spike turning Buffy back in season 2 – scary fun… I feel plot bunnies popping up). **

**Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns them, not me. **

**Love Me**

It hadn't been easy, but somehow Spike had done it. He'd caught her off-guard, tired after a brutal fight, and he'd sunk his fangs into her neck. At first, she had struggled, but then she'd just given up the fight. He'd turned her.

Spike could still remember her bitter rejection of him despite their months together. He had watched her fall apart as she tried to readapt to the world, so that when he turned her, he told himself it was for her good. As a vampire, she wouldn't be tearing open at the seams.

But really, it was for himself. If she refused to love him because of what he was, then maybe she would realize her love if she was the same.

That twisted logic ran circles in his head as he stood vigil over her body. It was painful, seeing her so still and dead like this. It reminded him of when they'd found her crumbled body by the tower. Broken and limp. He hadn't liked it then and he didn't like the look now. His only consolation was that she wasn't actually gone forever.

She would never breathe again – at least not out of any need – but she would live like she hadn't been able to since her resurrection.

Buffy's eyes shot open, her hands clawing at the air.

Spike smiled affectionately and murmured, "No need to dig your way out, pet. I didn't bury you."

"Spike…" She blinked and looked around the familiar crypt. Understanding dawned in her. "You turned me."

"Yeah." Spike watched her carefully. Sometimes fledglings revolted against the change (and their sire), usually until they got some blood in their system. It wouldn't have surprised him if Buffy was angry though he knew that it would go away soon. When she saw how much better everything was.

"Why?" No anger yet. Just a simple question with a simple answer underscored with a myriad of complexities.

"I love you."

Buffy smirked, sitting up in the bed he'd laid her on. "And you thought turning me would make me love you back."

"Well, yeah." Spike snorted. A moment lapsed and then he asked, "Did it work?"

Her smirk widened. "Of course," she paused momentarily, relishing the hope lighting up Spike's eyes, "not." The hope was immediately extinguished.

"Why the hell not?" He scowled. "I know you felt something for me before I turned you. Being a vampire should've brought that out."

"Why would I ever love a pathetic vampire like you?"

"I'm not pathetic!" Spike jumped up from the bed.

Buffy, as she got up along with him, held up her hand and lowered one finger, "You don't drink from humans anymore."

"Cuz of the bloody chip!"

Buffy continued, ignoring Spike, putting a finger down for each point. "You don't kill. You followed me around like some lovesick puppy-dog. You helped fight the forces of evil for me. You've begged for my attentions. Do I need to continue?"

Spike snarled, "Want a tough, mean Spike, do you? Fine, I can do that. I'll beat and torture you 'til you love me."

"You can try."

When Spike charged at her, Buffy grabbed his fist and using his momentum, flipped him over to the ground. Then she kicked him in the side, eliciting a grunt from the vampire. Spike grabbed her leg and tugged her down, adding a chop at the back of her knee so it gave out.

He jumped up and kicked her viciously in the side. "You. Will. Love. Me." Each word was accented with a kick.

Buffy rolled away and got back to her feet, laughing. "You always needed to be loved, didn't you William? First the girl when you were human, then Drusilla, and now me. Love – you were always seeking it, but you never could find someone to love you back. At least not someone who didn't prefer another."

"Shut up!"

"Pathetic, little William, always chasing after love and never getting it."

"Shut up, bitch!"

"The truth hurts, doesn't it? But you know what hurts more?" Buffy rammed into Spike, pinning him against the wall. She moved her face close to his, keeping millimeters of space between their cold bodies.

Almost skimming the surface of his skin, she moved her lips from his to his ear. "Being this close, turning me even…" Just as quickly as she had thrown herself at him, she shoved him further into the wall and backed away. "And not getting any."

"Bitch…" Spike growled through the pain coursing through his body.

Buffy looked at him curiously before waving him off. "You're not even worth my time to kill. I'll leave you here to suffer."

Spike pushed himself off the wall and threw himself at her, determined not to simply give in. She stepped to the side, grabbed his arm, and threw him into the wall. This time, he fell to the ground with a crash, body throbbing from the impact.

"Good-bye Spike. Enjoy your pathetic existence."


	7. Don't Touch That

**Characters: Anya**

**Pairing: None**

**Time: Season 5**

**Warnings: None**

**Additional Notes: Two inspirations for this… Yesterday, I was shopping with my friend Locked in a Stony Tower. I enjoy touching objects with different textures and was doing so. She gave me the prompt of Anya snapping at a kid for touching stuff in the Magic Box (I would probably have been that kid). Then, on LJ, the community open_on_sunday gave the prompt Monday, which bolstered my inspiration for this piece. 100 words exactly (a lot harder said than done – I had to keep slicing words). **

**Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns them, not me. **

**Don't Touch That**

Saturdays like this made Anya miss Mondays. Mondays were the start of the working week, but more importantly, brats didn't come in on Mondays. They had school and no time for shopping.

There was a small kid wandering the shop, his mother busy with amulets. Anya's eyes narrowed as the kid reached for a crystal ball.

"Don't touch that!" She snapped, the kid's fingers almost there. "If you do, I'll turn you into a rat _and_ make you buy it."

He burst into tears, the mother left with no purchases, and Xander was left to lecture Anya on threatening kids.


	8. And Jill Came Tumbling After

**Characters: Spike, Drusilla**

**Pairing: Spike/Dru, Implied Buffy/Angel**

**Time: Season 2**

**Warnings: None**

**Additional Notes: ****Once again, I'm writing for open_on_sunday over at LJ. The prompt this week was 'Jack'. **

**Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns them, not me. **

**And Jill Came Tumbling After**

"Jack and Jill went up the hill."

"Love?"

"But they weren't fetching water. Oh no," Drusilla shook her head, giggling, "they were being naughty. Naughty, naughty children." She shook her finger in chastisement. "They must be punished for their naughtiness. Jack pays first, losing his dearest possession."

Spike pulled her to his lap and whispered in her ear, "And Jill? She gonna be punished?"

"Jack's going to push her and she'll come tumbling down."

"Sounds like it'll be a good time."

"The crown won't be the only thing breaking this time, the stars say."

Elsewhere, a vampire woke up, gasping.


	9. Only One Left

**Characters: Willow, Xander, Jesse, Cordelia **

**Pairing: Jesse/Cordelia, Xander/Cordelia, Willow/Xander**

**Time: From pre-series to season 2 **

**Warnings: None**

**Additional Notes: I was in the mood to write something with friendship and this came out. There was never a date as to when the club was formed, so I put it to back when they were little. Given that they were all going to a public school in a small town, it's likely that they've all been going to the same school for a long time. The first two pieces are some time in elementary school, the third is during freshman year of high school, and the last is during "Innocence".**

**Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns them, not me. **

**Only One Left**

"The first meeting of the We-Hate-Cordelia club can now commence!"

Silence.

"So what do we do during meetings? Talk about how mean Cordelia is?"

"Of course that's what we do, Jesse. Right, Will?"

A nod and, "We have to pick positions too… Like president, secretary, treasurer…"

"I call treasurer!"

"Do you even know what that means, Xander?"

"Treasurers obviously do stuff with treasure… and treasuring. Do we have money?"

A shrug. "Not right now, but we can donate to a fund. It can help us fund future events... like going to get ice-cream or snacks during meetings."

"Whatever you say, Willow… Hey, you should be president!"

A blush. "I can't be president. I don't…"

"I vote Willow for president. Jesse?"

"Ditto, Will's president. What does that make me?"

"There's only three of us and since I'm president, I guess we don't really need a vice president, but we do need a secretary because they do important secretary stuff…"

"Then I'll be secretary!" A pause. "…What do I do?"

"Lots of stuff. Like writing things down and organizing other things."

"Seems important. Can we trust Jesse?"

"Of course you can trust me!"

"Okay, we have all the positions. Now let's get this underway."

(-+-+-)

"Look, I made pins!"

Three pins sat in his hand, each one stating 'I Hate Cordelia'.

"These are really cool, Xander."

Two hands reached out and took a pin each.

"Yeah, now we can really be a club. How'd you make these?"

One coin left in the jar they'd given him to safeguard.

"I used our fund money… It's a worthy cause, right?"

Zero disagreement.

(-+-+-)

"I'm sorry, but I have to quit the We-Hate-Cordelia club."

Two eyes stared at him in disbelief. "Why?"

A goofy smile graced him. "Because I don't hate her anymore."

"I don't like where this is going, man."

"Xander's right. We've hated her since day one. Don't you remember how many times she insulted you?"

He waved their complaints off. "I like her, I really like her. And I'm going to go out with her before I graduate."

"You're delusional! And a traitor! A delusional traitor, that's what you are!"

"Fine! I'm leaving!" He stormed off, dropping the We-Hate-Cordelia club pin at their feet. They didn't wear them out in public, but they had always kept them.

"Xander… That was a bit harsh."

"Willow, he thinks he has a chance with Cordelia! She's just going to reject him over and over and we'll have to pick up the pieces of his heart. I don't want that."

"I don't want that either… But it's his choice."

"Hmph…"

Jesse came back to them, of course. They were still friends even if Jesse wasn't a part of the club anymore.

(-+-+-)

Willow sat against her headboard, staring at the small pin in her hand. She ran her finger over the words, tracing them. _I hate Cordelia._

With Angel losing his soul and nearly killing her, she'd let herself stop thinking about Xander and Cordelia for a while. But now it was all she could think about. She felt bad about how much it hurt her. Xander had never shown any signs of liking her and she was starting to have something with Oz.

She should have been over at Buffy's or calling her at least, consoling her friend for her lost lover. Instead Willow sat alone, preoccupied with thoughts of Xander and Cordelia kissing.

She remembered how Xander had called Jesse a traitor for liking Cordelia. How he had ignored their best friend for days until finally deciding he didn't want to lose his friend over a girl even a girl as wicked as Cordelia.

Now, who was the traitor?

The secretary was dead, the treasurer was necking with the enemy, and the president sat alone, the sole member of a crumbling group.


	10. Going Nowhere

**Characters: Buffy**

**Pairing: Slight Bangel **

**Time: Post-Becoming Part 2 **

**Warnings: None**

**Additional Notes: I've wanted to write a post-Becoming one-shot for a while now and when this idea hit me, I was very pleased to write it. There are a few other post-Becoming one-shots I'd like to write, focusing on the other characters, so maybe you'll see those eventually. **

**Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns them, not me. **

**Going Nowhere**

Buffy sat numbly in the bus, staring out the window at the rolling landscape. Her duffel bag of clothes and a few other necessities sat beside her.

_So long, Sunnydale. _She thought as the bus left the town's limits.

Unbidden memories flickered through her head. Stolen nighttime kisses, graveyard strolls, his hands gently caressing her body – she shut her eyes. No, she was leaving all that behind. It was gone.

She tried distracting herself with other thoughts. These thoughts were about dancing at the Bronze, studying, laughing with her friends, teasing Giles for his British mannerisms, pleasant dinner conversation with her mother – again, she shut the stream of memories off. That was all gone too.

(-+-+-)

When the bus stopped in LA, Buffy heaved her bag up and piled off with the rest of the passengers. Everyone else rushed off – quick to go about their business – until she was the only one left standing there.

Her plans had never extended beyond leaving Sunnydale and arriving in Los Angeles. The city of lost souls, the city where one could get lost if one wanted to. She was already lost.

"Hey, you okay?" The bus driver peered curiously at Buffy. "Your parents gonna pick you up?"

She shook her head.

His frown deepened. "You want some help?"

"I'm fine." She replied and because he was still watching her with concern, she made her feet start moving.

No, she wasn't fine. She was never going to be fine again.

(-+-+-)

The room was cheap, but it was clean. There was a single bed, an old television set, a dresser, a small kitchenette, a closet door, and a door leading to the bathroom.

She dropped her duffel bag on the bed and headed into the bathroom. It was clean as well though the walls showed signs of water damage. Still, it would serve.

A haunted girl looked at her from the mirror, startling her. It was her, but it wasn't the person who used to look at her from the mirror. She studied her reflection closely. Her skin was pale and her hair hung limply around her face, but the main difference was in her eyes. They were empty and sad.

She didn't look like the mighty Slayer, killer of the undead. She looked like a broken seventeen-year old girl.

A bitter smile twisted her face. That's all she was – a seventeen-year old girl. How had anyone ever thought differently?

(-+-+-)

That night, when she finally fell asleep, she dreamed of Angel. She killed him again and again, each time driving a sword into him as he waited, trustful and blind to her betrayal.

Sometimes the nightmare changed. Sometimes he didn't disappear right away. Sometimes she could see the flames of Hell licking his body, his cries resounding through her body. Sometimes he stared at her and pleaded, "Buffy, why? Why did you do this to me? I thought you loved me."

She'd shake her head, words lodged in her throat. She did, she loved him so much. But she'd had to do it. She couldn't let the world go to Hell. She couldn't let everyone suffer for eternity for her own selfish desires.

That thought didn't help as much as she'd hoped it would.

(-+-+-)

The first job she held was at a seedy diner. It was minimum wage, thankless work, but it paid for food and rent. However, then her boss tried coming on to her and she punched him in the face. Suffice to say, she was fired immediately.

Her next few jobs were also short-lived, either because the employers only needed a short-term worker or because the bosses were total creeps who tried groping her. She'd lost so much already; losing those last shards of dignity wasn't a part of the plan. Still…

She needed the money and if she couldn't find herself a no-creep job soon, she was going to cave and let them grope all they wanted. There were lines she told herself she would never cross – she wouldn't sell her body – but her life seemed to be approaching those lines at full speed without signs of stopping.

Then she found a decent job. It was still far from a good job, but the boss wasn't a creep. Some of the clientele were, but she found that they were easy to ignore. All she needed to do was lower her head and take their orders despite whatever rude comments or gestures they made.

It wasn't great, it wasn't giving her purpose, but it was putting food in her belly and a roof over her head. Zero groping involved.

(-+-+-)

Her coworkers tried inviting her to go dancing with them after her first day on the job. She refused. They continued to ask, switching up their offers of dancing with invitations to restaurants, movies, and parties. Eventually they understood that she didn't want to socialize and they let her be.

She preferred it that way. Talking to people always left her sad and nostalgic for the people she'd once talked to the most. And she found she couldn't think about them without dredging up the pain of the past. Better to just lock it away.

Except the locking away never lessened the pain.

(-+-+-)

Her name was Anne now. Buffy was too odd a name and if there were people looking for her, they'd be asking about a blonde girl named Buffy. Not a blonde girl named Anne. She'd considered dying her hair, but it was too pricy an endeavor to keep up.

Anne was a normal name. It was common and no one did double-takes when they heard it. They just nodded their heads and went on with their lives.

Anne was a normal girl. Broken, sure, but relatively normal. She didn't carve stakes or seek out monsters. She avoided going out at night, so she wouldn't run into any trouble and give herself away. Anne was just a seventeen-year old girl living on her own and trying to deal with the massive amounts of pain burdening her.

Trying and failing.

(-+-+-)

She knew only a few months had passed since she'd come to LA, but it felt like an eternity had passed her by. Every day was more of the same. Sometimes she wondered if this was what the rest of her life would be like. Sometimes she even wondered if she should be trying to claw her way up from this low point to get on with life.

Mostly she just continued doing the same thing day by day, doing her best to bury the pain away under meaningless activity. She didn't dwell on it anymore; she just let the ache go on hurting in the background.

She'd reached a dead end in her life and rather than trying to find her way around it, she just sat there and let her existence continue on. It was all she could do.


	11. Let Me Burn

**Characters: Angel**

**Pairing: Slight Bangel **

**Time: Post-Becoming Part 2 **

**Warnings: Torture, but nothing too graphic**

**Additional Notes: Here's an accompanying Angel one-shot for "Going Nowhere". Though I still prefer "Going Nowhere", I do like this piece. I've got one more post-Becoming one-shot coming, focusing on the Scoobies. As for the title, thank you "Paradise Lost" by Hollywood Undead. It took me forever to come up with a title and while I was thinking, I was listening to the song and then BAM! A title! **

**Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns them, not me. **

**Let Me Burn**

"Close your eyes."

He really needed to stop listening to women when they told him to close his eyes. The first time he'd lost his life. The second time he went to Hell.

(-+-+-)

His arrival was heralded with fire. The flames rose up all around him, licking his skin right off. His eyes collapsed into gooey messes from the massive amounts of heat. His muscles went next, bubbling and burning like barbeque. He was still conscious – shouldn't he be dust now? – as the fire scorched his bones. This was the end.

Except… it wasn't the end.

His body was reconstructed and then the fire began to eat him again and again.

(-+-+-)

It didn't take long for him to remember why he was here and why he wasn't dust. It was a simple answer: he was in Hell and thus he'd be suffering for eternity.

He knew he deserved it. For everyone he'd killed, for everyone he'd tortured, for everyone he'd left sobbing for their loved ones. He deserved burning in Hell for his crimes and so he wasn't bitter about it.

To save the world, Buffy had sent him to Hell, right where he belonged. He wouldn't hold a grudge against her for it.

(-+-+-)

This time, after the fire had eaten him, he reappeared in a graveyard. He stared around him, curiously awaiting the next terror, before his eyes fixated on Buffy.

Buffy? What was she doing here? Had she died?

No, she wouldn't be in Hell when she died. She'd be in Heaven.

…Then maybe he was alive.

He didn't know why or how. He certainly didn't deserve to be alive and back in Sunnydale.

Buffy turned to him and smiled radiantly. He certainly didn't deserve to be smiled at like that.

His lips curved up at the sight of her smile despite his guilty feelings. She ran to him and her happiness took hold of him. They met halfway in a tight embrace. Her lips found his.

Suddenly his body was no longer under his control. He drew away from her lips, trailing small kisses down to her neck. Pausing for only a moment, his fangs slid out and he bit down. She stiffened against him and tried to push away, but he held tight. He drank deeply, feeling revolted but unable to draw away.

Then when he was done, he watched her body fall limply to the ground. The tears had barely gathered in his eyes before the scene flickered out of existence and he was back to the hellfire.

He relished the return of the flames this time.

(-+-+-)

Through the excruciating pain, he found time to dwell on Angelus' most recent actions. He thought about the many victims whose lives he'd taken, but most of all, he thought about Buffy and everything he'd done to her.

He'd mocked their love. He'd haunted her. He'd tried breaking her. He'd considered doing so many horrible things to her, things which he'd never gotten to do because she was strong.

His only consolation now was that she was safe with her friends and family.

(-+-+-)

The red-scaled demon smirked at him, waving a curved blade through the air. "Remember this one? You used it on that Irish maiden. Told her the cuts it left were so thin that she'd stay awake the entire time." It laughed.

He couldn't move against his restraints though he tried. His attempts to inch away from the blade only made his torturer laugh harder.

The knife slid into his flesh as the demon carved a curvy line on his back. He knew what the demon was drawing upon him; it was the same thing he'd carved on the girl's back.

A bird with tattered wings.

The only difference, the demon told him, was that hers had been a dove while his would be a crow.

(-+-+-)

He had no name now. He had no identity or anything to call his own. His memories had long ago faded away, buried under so much pain.

The one thing that he did know was pain. He knew the burn of the fire, the lash of the whip, and the agony of the knife drawn across his skin. He knew that he'd never get respite or break, that they would keep hurting him for eternity.

Once upon a time, he'd thought he'd deserved it. Now all he could think about was how damn painful it was and how much he wanted out.

(-+-+-)

The pain was gone. For a moment, he lay there, panting heavily. He expected more pain to befall him soon. This was a new game of theirs, to give him a brief break and then triple the agony. However, minutes passed and nothing came.

Cautiously, his eyes cracked open to behold a new world.


	12. Return to Us

**Characters: Willow, Xander, Giles**

**Pairing: None**

**Time: Post-Becoming Part 2 **

**Warnings: None**

**Additional Notes: The Scooby-centric post-Becoming oneshot. I focused on the core three since Cordelia was away for the entire summer and Oz wasn't as close to Buffy as the other three. **

**Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns them, not me. **

**Return to Us**

Their first sign that something was amiss was when Buffy's mother called Giles. Willow and Xander watched, first with cheer and then with sinking faces, as Giles' expression tightened. He thanked her mother for telling him and then hung up.

"What's wrong?" They asked in unison.

"Buffy's gone."

(-+-+-)

The only assurance they had was the note. It promised them that she hadn't died along with Angel.

As far as assurances went, it wasn't very comforting.

(-+-+-)

"My spell didn't work." Willow sighed.

"Or maybe it was too late and she killed him before it could take effect."

"Maybe…" She sighed again. "But she knew I was going to try again." His eyes shifted away though Willow didn't notice. "She wouldn't have killed him."

"Unless she had to. Like if he was about to kill her."

"That's probably it… I just wish I'd done the spell faster. Then she'd still be here and we'd all be happy."

"Yeah." Xander murmured, looking down at his hands.

(-+-+-)

When Giles arrived home, his feet led him to the liquor cabinet. He considered drowning the pain of Buffy's departure in alcohol, drinking until everything turned fuzzy and he no longer had to think.

But, he couldn't.

This was a time for thinking, not grieving. If he wanted to find Buffy, he had to be _doing _something, not sitting there, drinking away the pain. He turned from the cabinet and went to retrieve his phonebook.

(-+-+-)

Xander lay against his bed, staring at a picture of himself, Willow, and Buffy. They were all grinning broadly, his arms around the two girls in friendly companionship. Would they ever do that again?

He hoped so. He hoped she would come back and they'd all be best friends again. He hoped they'd put the mess of the last few months behind them and move on.

Idly, he wondered what would've happened if he hadn't lied to Buffy. If he'd told her about Willow trying the spell again. Would she still be in Sunnydale? Would Angel be alive, well as alive as Dead Boy was ever going to be? Would everything still be normal?

(-+-+-)

Los Angeles was the closest large city to Sunnydale. If anyone was to run away, LA would be the logical place to go. Unfortunately it was such a large city, finding one girl would be like looking for a specific ant in a forest.

Giles went anyway. He hit the demon bars, but no one had heard anything about a Slayer in the city of angels. There were no mysterious slayings either, demonic or vampiric. He left with a heavy heart.

The thought that Buffy wasn't slaying never occurred to him.

(-+-+-)

Once upon a time, she had never felt loss over not having a female best friend to talk with. It'd just been Xander, Jesse, and her – an arrangement that worked well.

But now Willow missed having her best friend around. She missed having someone she could spend hours talking to about boys, insecurities, school, feelings, anything really.

She wondered if Buffy missed having someone to talk with too.

(-+-+-)

A long, lonely week had gone by since Buffy had left. Classes had ended, but neither Willow nor Xander had greeted the end of school with their usual amount of enthusiasm. It just meant more time to dwell on their missing friend.

Willow now sat on her bed, a few books laid out in front of her. They were magic books, books that she'd snuck into her bag when Giles wasn't looking. Her hand skimmed over the covers longingly and hesitantly.

The memory of the magic burning in her system had never left her mind. The feel of being useful had also been pleasant even though the spell hadn't worked.

Her blood ran both hot and cold thinking about magic. She feared screwing up, she feared the mystery and uncertainty, she feared the consequences that could arise of mishandled magic.

If Buffy was here…

Willow shut that line of thinking off and opened the first book.

(-+-+-)

Why wasn't she back yet?

He wanted to track her down, to drag her to Sunnydale and ask her why she'd left in the first place and more importantly, why she hadn't come back yet. She couldn't desert her friends and duty like this. It just wasn't right.

Sure, it was okay for her to take some time off to grieve over Angel, but what about them? What about Willow? What about Giles? What about her mother? What about him?

Weren't they worth staying for?

Didn't they matter?

Or was the world Hell now because her _precious_ boyfriend was gone? News flash, he'd been gone for months, ever since her seventeenth birthday. He understood that mourning was necessary anyway, but what he didn't get was why it had to be away from Sunnydale.

He never told anyone, but he was angry with how she'd just disappeared, leaving them all behind.

(-+-+-)

"We need to start patrolling." Xander and Oz stared at Willow who crossed her arms. "Buffy's still gone and meanwhile the vampires are having fun. We can't let them take over this town. She wouldn't want that to happen."

Xander's eyes lit up. "Let's do it! They won't know what's hit them when we strike."

They turned to Oz. He nodded his head. "It's not every day three meals turn stakes on the predators… We just need some stakes and a solid plan."

(-+-+-)

Their first patrol was far from successful. They kept in a group, deciding against splitting up in favor of the safety in numbers principle. The trio ran into three vampires (separately – they were avoiding groups of vamps), none of which they managed to stake. Fortunately none of them were hurt.

The next night started with gloomy spirits. The first three vampires got away, but the fourth tackled Oz to the ground. Willow staked him in the back before his fangs could pierce Oz's tender neck. This victory bolstered them and sustained them through the rest of the night.

Patrols ranged from 'mildly successful, let's grab some ice-cream to celebrate' to 'at least none of us died'. They suffered bruises and scratches, bumps and aches. But they felt good about doing something to stave off the undead, even if it was such a small number.

(-+-+-)

Two months had passed since Buffy left Sunnydale.

There'd been sightings all over, but every time, Giles went to check, he returned home alone. It didn't stop him from going anyway though his eyes grew dimmer each time. Despite the hope he harbored, logic was telling him that this was a futile mission. Yet he always went when the phone rang.

Willow continued to practice magic in secrecy. Some nights she cried from the frustration of it and some nights she wondered why she even bothered. Other nights she reveled in the small victories she managed. Every night she wished Buffy was there to help her.

Sometimes he blamed himself for lying to her. Sometimes he kicked himself for not staying behind to make sure she made it out okay. Sometimes he raged at her for being gone. Mostly he just hoped that she'd come back because he was worried and all he wanted was his best friend back.

That's all any of them wanted.


	13. Stone

**Characters: Willow, Tara**

**Pairing: Willow/Tara**

**Time: Season 4 and post-season 6 **

**Warnings: None**

**Additional Notes: I finally got around to writing a Willow/Tara fic. It certainly took long enough, seeing as how much I love the two of them. Written for the prompt 'Stone' over at open_on_sunday on LJ. Yes, I know the title is unoriginal, but I couldn't think of anything better. **

**Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns them, not me. **

**Stone**

"I charmed this with soothing powers." Tara held out a smooth, white pebble. "It's nothing special, but it'll clear your head a bit."

Willow took the stone with a smile. She could feel the magic working inside it and she could feel the stone's magic enveloping her. It felt nice, pleasant like the earth. "Can you teach me how to do this?"

Tara nodded shyly, a small smile gracing her face.

Years later, the head of the Coven handed Willow a white pebble. "This will calm you when you first begin using magic again."

Willow accepted it with teary eyes.


	14. The Wrong Kind

**Characters: Buffy, Angelus**

**Pairing: Buffy/Angelus, some mentions to B/A**

**Time: Season 2 **

**Warnings: PG-13**

**Additional Notes: I've never done a second-person point-of-view before, so this was a fun foray into that experimental style. Enjoy the darkness and let me know what you think! **

**Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns them, not me. **

**The Wrong Kind**

What kind of Slayer does this make you?

You ponder the question as you lay in the arms of your lover. He's asleep right now, his body wrapped around yours.

You could've –_ should've_– staked him long ago. That's what a responsible Slayer would do. That's what a good Slayer would do.

You're not responsible or good. Not anymore, at least.

When he killed Ms. Calendar, you thought you were ready to kill him. You promised Giles that you would. You promised Willow and Xander that you would. You promised yourself, or you'd fooled yourself into believing it. Now you're not sure if you were ever ready to kill him.

You didn't find him immediately. Maybe if you had, this would be over and he'd be dust. Where would that have left you? You don't want to think about that.

You managed life without your Angel. Things were hard. He, not Angel but the demon sporting his face, sent you presents constantly. One night, out patrolling, he grabbed you and kissed you soundly. Then he disappeared.

As more bodies piled up, your friends watched you with wariness. You know Xander blamed you for their deaths, for letting the monster continue stalking this world. You tried to tell them that Angelus was hard to find, but that didn't blunt the accusations in their eyes.

Your mother was worried. She encouraged you to find someone else. You tried that, but he turned up dead a day later. After that, no one said anything about dating.

Then you found yourself in the middle of an ambush. You don't remember how many of them there were, but it was an overwhelming number of demons. Too many to face alone, even for the Slayer. You thought you were going to die.

He came like your dark knight in leather. He came and joined the fray. In moments, between the two of you, you massacred the demons. You watched him and he smiled, vowing that nobody would have the pleasure of killing you.

Past that, you don't know how it happened. He started joining in your battles more frequently. You didn't breathe a word of this behavior to any of the Scoobies. They wouldn't have understood. They would've asked why you hadn't staked him already and that was a question you couldn't answer.

At first, you thought it was like having Angel back. You thought that maybe the soul had left an imprint behind on the demon.

That wasn't true. This demon wasn't your Angel and you'd never forget that. He was selfish and rough and evil. But he protected you and made you feel wonderful and you couldn't live without that.

You don't remember how much time passed between him helping you fight and your first night of passion with him. You just remember a brutal battle, nearly losing him as he saved you and your heart beating frantically at the thought of him dusted.

You remember helping him back to Angel's old apartment because you wouldn't go near the mansion and he wasn't welcome anywhere else. You remember bandaging him up. You remember the heat in his eyes and the all-consuming fire within. You remember kissing him and him tearing off your clothes and you doing the same to his.

You don't remember how many times you've done it now.

After the first time, you felt like a traitor to your friends and Angel. You wondered how you could've let this happen. You cried and felt dirty. He yelled at you before gathering you into his arms and kissing you roughly.

Now it's not like that. You can't explain why except that you need this. You need the passion he offers, you _crave_it. You want to continue fighting with him, saving more people than you've ever saved before (and so what if he kills a few every now and then to eat). You want the way he doesn't judge you and the way the two of you fit together perfectly.

So the ultimate question remains: what kind of Slayer does this make you?


	15. Apples

**Characters: Drusilla **

**Pairing: None**

**Time: Pre-series**

**Warnings: None**

**Additional Notes: For open_on_sunday's prompt 'Eve'. 100 words. **

**Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns them, not me. **

**Apples**

"…_then your eyes shall be opened"_

Mummy says she's like Eve, that her visions invite disaster, that knowing will ruin her. She says that people aren't supposed to know. Drusilla wonders why that's so, why the prophets are allowed to _see _hidden truths while she's labeled a witch for her sight.

Mummy says the visions are temptations; they're apples. Drusilla doesn't think that's accurate. She never asks for visions and if she was allowed to say no, she would. Everyone, the priest included, calls her evil, but all she wants is to be good.

Why must she be a monster?


	16. Heavy Hearts

**Characters: Buffy, Angel **

**Pairing: Buffy/Angel**

**Time: AU from "The Harvest"**

**Warnings: T**

**Additional Notes: An AU take on what could've happened if Buffy had been too late to stop the Harvest. It's not a pretty world. **

**This is for the 2011 IWRY marathon over on LJ. This is 6200 words and each little section is composed of 100 words. Yeah, I was crazy enough to decide writing a story this long in 100-word segments would be fun. And it was although it was also excruciatingly hard. **

**Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns them, not me. I also don't own the poetry Angel reads. **

**Heavy Hearts**

The club stinks of blood and death. Bodies, mostly teenagers, lay scattered across the floor, the fleshy wrappings of finished meals. They're pale; necks crusted with blood and faces contorted with fear.

She knows she's failed, that she's too late, but she lingers in this temple of death. Despite the grotesqueness of the scene and the feeling that she could vomit up everything she's eaten (_shouldn't she? Isn't that what normal girls do?_), she can't leave.

Instead she trails farther into the club, scanning the bodies for familiar faces. She hopes they had the sense not to enter without her.

†

She finds Cordelia first. Pity stirs within her. No one deserves a death like this. Even Cordelia.

Then she sees her Watcher.

Giles.

She kneels by his side and another man's face flashes through her mind. Why? Why do her Watchers always die? Is it because of her?

She turns her head away and spots red hair.

No!

Trembling, she approaches the body.

Willow. And Xander next to her.

There's a cross lying next to his fingers. It failed to protect him. Just like she did. Tears rise in her eyes.

If she hadn't been late, they'd still be breathing.

†

A throaty, deep voice interrupts her. "Look who's late to the party."

Her body stiffens and she reaches for her stake. But again she's too slow and the vampire is on her. It's the one from the graveyard, Luke or whatever.

She's pinned to the ground with no leverage to knock him off. His mouth lowers and she wonders what it'll feel like to die.

Maybe this is karma: she was late and now she'll die like the innocents around her. She doesn't want to follow them to whatever afterlife beckons, if one exists at all.

She wants to live.

†

A low growl breaks the silence and suddenly the weight's gone and dust is showering down on her. Someone's helping her up. She recognizes him: the handsome man with the annoying cryptic warnings.

Angel.

She wants to say thank you, but instead says, "I thought you were afraid of them."

He looks at her with an intensity that startles her, that makes her look away. "I had to help you." He says it as if it's the simplest thing in the world, but it dredges up so many questions.

She opens her mouth, but he shakes his head. "Not here."

†

As he leads her to the door, she halts in the middle of the massacre. He looks back at her and she answers before he asks.

"I have to stay."

"Why?" He looks at her as if she's just suggested marching into Hell. Maybe she has.

"I need to stay and fight the Master. He'll come – no baddie can resist gloating – and when he does, I'll slay."

"You'll die."

Her eyes flash angrily. "I have to do this! I can't let anyone else die because I'm not doing my duty."

His fist comes too fast and then darkness claims her.

†

She wakes up on a bed in an unfamiliar room. She sits, muscles coiled.

"It's okay." Angel's there, leaning against the wall.

She's ready to interrogate him about the mystery room when she remembers everything. Despair floods through her, but she shoves it aside in favor of fury.

"You had no right to stop me!" She stands, pointing a finger at him.

"So you could get yourself killed?" He shakes his head.

"One Slayer dies, the next is called. That's the drill." She shrugs bitterly. "No one will care anyway."

"I won't let you throw away your life like that."

†

"Why?" She sighs, suddenly feeling tired beyond her years. The death of too many people hangs like a veil, shrouding any possible light.

He asks warily, unsure of her mood, "Why what?"

"Why does it matter? Why do _you _care if I die?" Her eyes drop to the ground, fear and vulnerability and guilt gnawing at her insides. It's all the spirits, crying at her for letting them die. "The next Slayer might be better. She might be able to stop a slaughter before it happens. She might be able to take the Master down."

"I care because it's you."

†

That isn't the answer she expects.

She stares at him in amazement, really looking at him, and he looks away, biting his lower lip. For her, that small movement cements the sincerity of his words.

She can't bring herself to ask why. Why does he care about her? What makes her special? Had he seen her before?

It's funny that she's being so quiet now since with any other guy she would've been ready with a flirty remark to a comment like that. It's far too confusing to think about Angel's confession, so her mind moves on to other things.

†

She thinks about her friends instead. She didn't know them very well and now she never will. They'd been living normal lives, futures bright and shiny with hope, and then she'd come. They'd taken her side and now they were dead.

She doesn't want to break down in front of him, but tears begin rolling down her cheeks anyway. It's too much. She turns away from him, wanting to hide her sorrows.

Arms wrap around her hesitantly. She can't explain it, but she feels safe ensconced in those arms. Like she can cry all she wants without fear or doubt.

†

She wakes up alone.

She remembers crying in Angel's arms until sleep took over. She remembers the feel of safety, of being with someone who cares. She also remembers the blood and gore though she tries to put that aside.

Her stomach rumbles. She rises and finds him in the next room, sitting at a table. There's a plate of waffles by him and she smiles.

He notices and nods his head at the food. "Go ahead. I'll make you some tea."

She eats the waffles, not really tasting them, her mind weighed down by everything that is her fault.

†

"What time is it?"

"Seven."

She frowns, making calculations. If she'd gone to the Bronze around one and then cried till three, that would mean only four hours of sleep. "I slept longer than that."

"In the evening."

She stares. "Why didn't you wake me?"

He looks away. "You needed the sleep."

"My mom's going to be worried sick!" She jumps up. "I need to get home." He watches her and she adds, "You can come."

It doesn't seem as if he'll answer and she's ready to leave, but then he nods. "The sun's set. We'll need to be careful."

†

When no one answers the doorbell, she shrugs. "Maybe she's out."

She draws her own key and opens the door, entering the house. It's quiet and there's an abandoned vibe, which is ridiculous since she was here just last night.

She glances back at where Angel's lingering outside. Irritated and concerned, she snaps, "Do you want to attract vampires? Get in."

Once he's inside, they shut the door.

She shouts. "Mom! Mom! I'm home!"

Nothing.

"Something's not right."

"Vague that up, will you?"

She doesn't know what he knows. She can't even with Slayer-enhanced senses. But she'll know soon enough.

†

It's a frightening tableau straight from a classic serial killer film. Her mother is stretched out on the sofa. Her eyes stare at the ceiling, glassy and dim. There's a wreath of blood around her, a halo for the dead. It's matted in her hair and crusted over her pale skin. Her neck hasn't just been bitten; it's been torn open, the flesh pink and exposed. Some flies crawl over the meat, buzzing softly. On the wall, there are words in dripping red.

_Come out and play, Slayer._

This was their play, their games. This was what they called fun.

†

It's impossible. How could her mother, so apart from the Slaying, be dead because of those creatures? Her mother's not a part of that world – how dare they kill her like this!

She drops to her knees, retching, dry-heaving when nothing else will come. Tears tumble down her face and she feels Angel's arms draw her to him. She lets him pull her close, her eyes frozen on her mother.

It's too much, far too much for a sixteen year-old girl to face. Her mother shouldn't be dead. Yet she is and again it's her fault.

It's always her fault.

†

She doesn't know how much time passes, but her sobs fade away to nothing and she's left staring silently at the body. Her mother.

"I'm sorry."

"I hate them." Her eyes are blazing now, burning with a Slayer's righteousness and a deeper, primal hatred. She doesn't remember ever feeling like this. Not even when Merrick died.

"I'm going to kill every single one of those damned creatures." Her voice is harsh, angry, so far from the teenager who didn't want anything to do with the supernatural.

He doesn't say anything and she doesn't expect him to. This is her promise.

†

The house is too big and empty for her. It's too full of ghosts; every time she walks into the kitchen, she expects her mother to be there, making pancakes or washing dishes. And even though she cleaned everything up, the sofa is stained with blood and the air with putrid death.

She can't stay here anymore.

…But where else can she go?

He offers her a place at his apartment and she accepts without a second thought. She packs her bags and says good-bye to the place that never had time to become her home and now never would.

†

"If you want to face the Master, you're going to have to work hard. You're going to have to train a lot."

She nods. "I know."

"I'll train you."

Her brow rises. "You, Mr. Scared-to-face-them? I thought you were more of a leave-cryptic-hints kinda guy."

His lips quirk upwards. "Punch me."

She curbs her strength, but not her speed. Still, it's not fast enough to avoid having his arm jerk up to redirect her punch to the side. His other arm shoots out, fist stopping a few millimeters away from her body. He smirks.

"Okay, you can be my Yoda."

†

She doesn't have a Watcher anymore and with no way to contact the Council, she doesn't think she'll get another anytime soon. The thought doesn't bother her – after all, her Watchers tend to die.

She does have Angel. She doesn't know where he learned and he's evasive about her prodding, but he's got crazy good combat skills. He's become her teacher, her guide, and her partner.

They patrol together, talking and hunting. He steers them clear of the big vampire nests, telling her she isn't ready yet. She lets him direct them, knowing that she'd be lost without his anchoring.

†

"I'm going to check out the Bronze." She looks over at him, alarmed by his proposition. She doesn't want to think about entering the club again. He adds, "You can stay here."

"But what if the Master's there?"

"It'll be simple recon. I won't get caught." Angel promises. She stares pleadingly at him, afraid for him but too unnerved by the thought to offer aid. "We need to know if the Master's there or if he's got a different hideout."

He walks out the door. She considers following, but she can't bring herself to move.

So she whispers, "Stay safe."

†

As minutes pass, she wishes she'd gone with him. She doesn't want the one person she has left to die. She thinks about his body immobile and still – another victim of her incompetence.

Then she hears him enter and she breathes out in relief. He's still alive.

"What was it like?"

"Empty. The Master's living somewhere else."

"Are we going to find him?" She doesn't know if she's ready to face the master vampire. She didn't think Angel thought she was ready.

"No. You're not ready."

She's glad for his answer though part of her just wants it over with.

†

She considers calling her father to tell him about her mother's death, but every time she lifts the phone, she can't do it. She knows if she does, he'll whisk her away to LA. They'll grieve her mother and move on.

But she can't move on.

She can't leave Sunnydale. She's sworn that she'll kill them to avenge all the lives lost and to protect the lives still around. She knows Sunnydale will probably be her grave, but she doesn't care as long as she kills them in the process. There's nothing left for her but this oath of vengeance.

†

She stops attending school. It just seems more important to focus on slaying. When she makes the choice, she can see Angel watching her with sadness and she wants to snap at him for it but can't bring herself to.

She also adopts a nocturnal schedule like her prey. He does challenge that, telling her that she shouldn't give up the sun and the human world to live in the shadows. She fires back that he does the same thing, sequestering himself from the light to better hunt the vampires.

He doesn't say anything else on the subject after that.

†

They're out patrolling one night when a trio of vampires jumps them. Two are men – she dubs them Curls and Hedgehog for their hairstyles. The other is a blonde woman whom she recognizes from her first night in Sunnydale. It's two against three, but the two fight well together.

"Angelus?"

She doesn't know why the blonde woman calls Angel that, but she's backed away. The vampire sneers at him.

"Slayer's lap dog now? How pathetic. You'll watch her die and then _maybe_ we'll let you back in. The Master's wanted a replacement since Luke died. And you were the best."

†

It happens fast. Curls and Hedgehog charge her. A punch knocks Curls away, but Hedgehog grabs her arm before she can withdraw. He twists. Then the woman is there, fangs angled towards her exposed neck.

A growl rips the air. Angel moves with a speed she hasn't seen from him as he barrels into the woman. They fight like jungle cats, spitting and hissing and roaring.

She watches, transfixed by the sight of his demonic visage, of the way he fights. But Curls and Hedgehog are still around and she must fight when Hedgehog lands a blow on her jaw.

†

It doesn't take long for her to stake them – they're fledglings and she's had an excellent master. An excellent master who happens to be a vampire.

Angel. A vampire.

How could she miss that?

She watches the fight between the vampires, unable or unwilling to jump in as usual. His face sports the enemy's features and he fights with a new ferocity, but it's still his style. She reminds herself that vampires aren't people, that they're monsters intent on destruction and mayhem, but she can't (_won't_) plaster that definition on Angel.

He's something else. Or maybe she's just a fool.

†

They've been fighting for a while and she fears that he might lose. It's irrational – why care if another vampire is staked? But she doesn't want him to become dust… at least until he's given her answers.

Like why did he say he cared about her. Or why has he been helping her slay better. Or why hasn't he killed her yet. Or –

The blonde woman pulls him close and her heart jumps.

She murmurs, "We can be together again, Angelus. Powerful."

"No. That's over."

The stake is swift, the hidden serpent, and then she's just dust in the wind.

†

He turns away from her, but she catches the look on his face.

Regret. Sorrow. Shame. Not vampire emotions at all.

"Why are you helping?" Somehow the words push past the bubbles in her throat though they come out quieter, meeker, than she wants them to.

When he turns to her, his face is back in its human mask. His eyes stay on the ground. "I want to."

It's an unsatisfying answer. Lions don't help lambs and vampires don't help Slayers. They kill them. It's a fact of life.

What gives him the power and will to defy those facts?

†

The bubbles in her throat pop and angry words rush out, "That's not a good answer! You should want to kill me. You should want to turn Sunnydale into your personal playground. Not play hero. So why the hell are you helping?

"I have a soul."

"How?" Her hand is still tight around the stake.

"It's a long story."

"Then let's go home and you can tell me over a steaming cup of tea..." She frowned, "…or blood, I suppose."

He looks at her, surprised, and she rolls her eyes. "Yes, I'm not staking you right away. Now let's go."

†

They arrive at his (_their_) apartment. He puts the kettle on the oven and as they wait for the water to boil, he talks about gypsies and curses and dirty alleyways and demons fighting for good. He skims briefly over his career as Angelus, noting that he was a vicious, bloodthirsty vampire. He finishes by telling her about the promise he made to himself – to protect her.

She's quiet when he finishes, just as she's been through the entire story. Finally she asks, "How did I miss it?"

"Sometimes people can't see what they don't expect."

Sunnydale syndrome right there.

†

After that, they lapse into more silence. She drinks the rest of her tea. He stands tall, the monster awaiting judgment.

She wants to believe that he's the man she's come to call friend. And really, if he was evil, wouldn't he have killed her when he had the chance? Wouldn't he have helped Darla – his sire – out instead of staking her?

Maybe he's got a master plan, she doesn't know, but she does know that he's her only friend and she's not losing him like she did the others.

"Can we spar now?"

Judgment passes, he's welcomed by humanity.

†

She's awake before him tonight. He's always made her breakfast and now it's her turn. Once she's finished, she sits at the table, eating her food.

When he enters, he freezes. His eyes focus on the cup across from her.

She glances at him and smirks. "Better hurry or it's going to get cold."

"You made me blood."

"And the award for stating the obvious goes to…"

He smiles broader than usual. It looks good on him and she'd doubly glad for her action.

"Thank you."

"No big."

But looking at him, she sees that it is a big deal.

†

He punches her; she grabs his arm and hurls him to the ground. She straddles him. A pen pokes his chest and she leans over him, "Dust."

He smiles back and with that smile, her heart flutters in her chest. With the adrenaline fading, she's suddenly aware of how close they are, how the air buzzes with electricity around them.

He's noticed too; there's an animal heat gleaming in his brown eyes. She only needs to lean her head down a few inches and…

She draws away quickly.

"I'm going to shower," she stammers out and hurries out the room.

†

Water pummels her mercilessly, sweeping away the heat. A part of her calls for it, but she ignores that part.

She can't get into this. She won't. People she loves have a tendency to die and she doesn't want that for him.

And, perhaps more than that, she's afraid of getting hurt. She's afraid of losing someone again. It's okay as just friends, that's what she tells herself anyway, but anything more would break her completely.

And, hello, vampire. It would never work. Being friends was okay, good even, but having fuzzy feelings for one?

Nope, out of the question.

†

Things are quiet when she exits the shower. For a moment, she fears that he's gone, but then she spots him curled up on the sofa. He's reading a book.

She sits on the armchair, peering at the cover. "Whatcha reading?"

"_Sonnets from the Portuguese_ by Elizabeth Barrett Browning." At her puzzled face, he adds, "Poetry."

"Read some?"

He looks intently at her before glancing down again. "A heavy heart, Beloved, have I borne, From year to year until I saw thy face…"

Again, the heat rises to her cheeks and she can't make out the rest of his words.

†

When he finishes, she forces out words, "It's pretty. All nice and flow-y and metaphorical. My English teacher loved metaphors. He was all about the hidden meanings in stuff. I was never big on them. Deciphering metaphors, not poetry. I like poetry."

She swallows down the rest of her babble and stares at the floor. She tries to not think about Angel and heavy hearts and being near him.

"Poetry is good." He replies, setting the book down. "It's late."

"We should get to sleep." She agrees, grateful for the escape.

In bed, she spends hours locking away her feelings.

†

The Master's elusive, hiding in the darkness. They keep their ears open, but there aren't any clues to his whereabouts. He's a master at remaining hidden when needed.

It's maddening, this game of cat and mouse. Sometimes she's not even sure who's the cat and who's the mouse anymore. Both sides stalk the other; both have death gleaming in their eyes.

She wonders how much longer this'll last. She wonders how it'll end, whether it'll end with blood or dust. Or both – maybe they'll destroy each other.

As long as the vampires die, she doesn't care how it goes down.

†

"Buffy." He waits to make sure he has her full attention. "When's the last time you did something fun?"

She looks away, suddenly interested in the wall. "I slayed that vamp last night… It was fun…"

"I don't mean Slayer-fun. I mean normal fun."

Her eyes drift back to him and she regrets it because he's watching her with so much intensity that it's hard to keep looking. So she looks away again. "I have to kill them."

"You shouldn't seclude yourself from the world."

She stands and smiles at him. "Come on, duty calls."

"Buffy!"

But she's already leaving.

†

She knows his words are true, that she has been locking herself away from the rest of the world ever since the Harvest. She knows she shouldn't be. It's unhealthy.

But she won't let him penetrate her armor. There's a reason she's drawn away from the world. She brings pain and suffering to those whom she's close to, those whom could become friends. Angel's different because he's already in this monstrous world, but she won't pull anyone else into it.

Slayers were built to kill and hunt, to protect the world from evil. She's forgotten how to do anything else.

†

"There are vampires here?"

She stares around them. They're in front of a fair. The place is full of bright lights and laughter and joyous whoops and overpowering odors and smiles and cranking machinery. It's not a place she can see vampires in… Though there are plenty of people to pick off and so she supposes they could be lurking in the shadows.

"No." He admits, shattering her illusions of skulking vamps. "But we're here and I already got tickets. It'd be a shame to waste them." He waves the tickets in front of her.

She can't resist the offer.

†

At first, she's determined to _not _enjoy herself because this isn't her life anymore. She's determined to go through the motions because it's what he wants, but she's not seeking pleasure. She's not the girl who goes out to have some fun anymore.

Those thoughts slip away quickly, her emotional armor accumulating a number of chinks. She shrieks in delight when the rollercoaster drops, laughs when Angel mutters about the so-called entertainment, snorts when he admits to intense dizziness after their sixth time on the Twister.

They end the evening with ice-cream – well, she has ice-cream while he walks near-by.

†

"Did you have fun?" He asks as they near the apartment.

She rolls her eyes. "You couldn't tell."

He shrugs, smiling. She smiles back and the rest of the world melts away. Her eyes focus on his lips and then she's pressed against him, lips gently, shyly, touching. The kiss deepens, the movements slow and passionate and like none of the kisses she's ever had.

A pleasurable growl rises from his chest and then he pulls away, his eyes glued to the ground. His face has changed, the demon excited.

"Don't stop." She steps to him and resumes the kiss.

†

After that, he convinces her to go out and see the world during the day. She walks through Sunnydale, jacket drawn tight.

There's too much ruin. Cars broken, shop windows smashed, roads littered. At night, the destruction doesn't look so bad. It blends with the rest of the horrors. But in the stark sunlight, it seems surreal.

The people are changed too. They watch each other with leering eyes and hurry about their business. There are no friendly greetings even between neighbors. Colors are drab and laughter is gone.

So much has changed – all because of the Master rising up.

†

Before she returns home, she stops at the Bronze. It's her first time at the club since the Harvest. Angel has been here multiple times in search of the Master, but she's always remained at home.

She stayed away because she was afraid. Afraid to face her failure again, afraid to see bodies.

Now she enters. It's quiet. There are dark stains everywhere, but no bodies. The club has become a monument, a memorial to the night things changed. Tears slide down her cheeks as she murmurs promises to the dead.

She couldn't save them, but she'll save the living.

†

They sit on the sofa as she describes what she saw. He's silent the entire time, his lips pressed tightly together. When she's done, she asks, "Did you know it'd be like that?"

"No, but I thought it might."

"They seemed so different at the fair." She reminisces, leaning into his chest.

"They were trying to forget their troubles if only for a bit. That's what people do. They live in perpetual fear and then they try hiding from it for a few hours."

She hopes they'll succeed and chase away the horrors so people won't have to hide anymore.

†

_She's at the Bronze in an ivory dress, surrounded by the slaughter. Angel's waiting at the other side, smiling. She smiles back and walks towards him. _

_A body rises in her path. It's Giles, his glasses broken and his neck coated in blood. _

"_You've failed your duty, Buffy." _

_She trembles and shakes her head. Now other bodies are rising up – Willow, Xander, her mother. They're all blaming her as scarlet stains her dress. _

"_You should've died for them."_

_This unfamiliar voice is cold and chilling. Hands wrap around her throat and the last thing she sees is Angel bursting into dust. _

†

"Buffy, wake up, Buffy!"

She wakes up, gasping. Seeing Angel, she pulls him into a crushing embrace. Sobs wrench from her throat as the pallid faces of the victims swim around her. Her eyes shut, but it doesn't help.

"Do you want anything? Tea? Hot chocolate? Food?"

She shakes her head. "Just stay here."

Though she wants to tell him about her dream – Slayer dreams tend to be prophetic and she needs to warn him – she can't talk about it right now.

He slides into bed with her. His arms wrap around her and like always, she feels safer there.

†

In the evening, when they wake up, she tells him over breakfast. She doesn't leave anything out because she's terrified of what it means and she trusts him.

"Don't blame yourself for what happened that night."

"It was my fault. I didn't get there fast enough."

She leaves out that her mother had kept her in. Don't blame the dead.

"If I'd been faster, they wouldn't have died and the Master wouldn't be free."

"Buffy, you can't change the past." His eyes are pained as he speaks. "But you can fight. You can save the ones who still need saving."

†

It hits her then. He lives with all the lives his alter-ego had ruined and taken. She's separated Angelus and Angel so completely that his sins aren't Angel's, but he hasn't. He lives with the guilt draped around his shoulders, a self-imposed cloak of blame. It's like the failure bearing on her.

She reaches across the table to hold his hand. "It wasn't your fault either." Complaint rises in his eyes, but she continues, "You're right, we can't change the past, but we can fight together."

His eyes shine in her acceptance and she feels the dead lift off her.

†

They find Jesse that night. He's smirking, the cocky bastard, bragging about being the Master's right-hand vamp now that Luke and Darla are gone. Sharing a quick glance of understanding, they wrestle him to the ground.

Angel holds him there as she asks, "Where's the Master?"

Jesse snarls, "I'm not telling you."

She smiles acidly. "For someone everyone's going on about, he sure is a coward. I'd start a coup if I were you."

Jesse stays silent, so she tugs off her cross and presses it against him. The vampire hisses and it isn't long before he's spilling the information.

†

"I'm going alone." She says back at the apartment as they load up on weaponry.

"No, you're not."

"Yes."

Rage flashes in his eyes. "What happened to fighting together?"

"You _died _in my dream. I won't let you risk yourself like that."

"And I won't let you go in alone."

"Don't you get it? I can't lose you!" Angry tears fall. "I can't."

He closes the distance between them, pulling her in his arms. She rests against his chest. He kisses the crown of her head and murmurs, "I'll survive, I promise."

Yes, he will. Because she won't risk him.

†

As they get ready to go outside, she snaps her fingers. "I forgot my jacket."

"I'll get it." He volunteers and she manages a sheepish look that disappears when he leaves.

She looks around for something that'll do when his voice drifts from the other room. "Leather?"

"Yes, please." She answers, finding what she's looking for.

When he steps into the living room, she swings the pan at him. He drops to the ground. She leans down and kisses his brow.

"I'm sorry, Angel, but I can't let you die."

Slipping into the jacket, she gives him one last look.

†

Pushing aside all the guilt (_"we can fight together"_) and worry (_Angel bursting into dust_), she leaves, a panther on the prowl. Jesse said the Master was in an old factory, plotting revolutionary, grand things. She intends to end this 'revolution' tonight.

She doesn't meet any other vampires the entire walk over and that's when she knows that _he _knows she's coming. Fine, it won't be an ambush, predator stalking prey. He's inviting her over and she's gladly accepting the invitation to his party.

Part of her calls for Angel, but she smothers that traitorous thought.

He won't die tonight.

†

The Master stands at the center of the abandoned factory, caressing a piece of machinery she doesn't like the looks of. There are other vampires there, but he's the one she watches.

He's different – ancient with power rolling off him in waves. He's been around for so long, an unchangeable boulder in turbulent history, and she's going to end him tonight. She'll never admit it, but the thought thrills her, that she'll end something so eternal.

"Won't you come in?"

She's been standing still too long, watching.

Well, it wouldn't have been fitting to end this with a crossbow anyway.

†

Angel's trained her well.

She starts with a punch at his temple, switching for a jab to his stomach in the last moment with her other hand. It's the first hit, but it's not enough to stop him.

Other vampires attempt to interfere, but he calls them off. Says he'll finish her himself.

They fight, two predators locked in a fast dance to the death. She circles, he lunges, she darts, he punches, she kicks, he dodges. It seems as if they're in a draw when he pulls a move she'll never learn.

Hand at her throat, he hisses, "Stop."

†

Paralysis seizes her. She doesn't know why, but his voice, the one that's haunted her dreams for so long now, holds her. She vaguely remembers Angel warning her about thralls, about older vampires being able to control victims.

She never thought she'd be a victim since she got her Slayer powers, but now she's truly terrified.

The Master laughs; the hand not clutching her throat runs down her face. It stops at her pulse and she wishes she could slow the frantic beating.

"A Slayer in my hold, how pleasant."

Then he leans over and his fangs meet her neck.

†

At first, it hurts, but then her head grows light and everything seems to fade away. Even the pain… It's becoming faint and she can forget about the vampire at her neck. Peace wraps around her.

She thinks about her dead mother and the friends that might have been. She wonders if she'll meet them, if they'll have an eternity to get to know one another. She hopes they don't blame her for being too late.

"Buffy!"

…Angel. She wishes she could've told him how much she loves him.

"Buffy!"

The fuzziness disappears replaced with the harsh edges of reality.

†

It takes a few moments for everything to sink in. She can feel the pain again and there's blood sliding down her neck, but her main concern is Angel grappling with the Master. The image of him becoming dust overlays the scene in front of her until terror is working its way through her system.

Other vampires join the fray. She stakes those who get in her way as she approaches the Master.

Sensing her, he shoves Angel away and turns. Predatory eyes meet. She's too fast and the stake is entering his heart before he can lunge.

No dust.

†

Everything freezes. Vampires and Slayer in a historic moment.

A gurgling scream ushers forth from the Master's mouth. His flesh is becoming dust, particles spewing in the air like a macabre fountain. When the flesh is gone, his bones clatter to the ground. The only remnants of the monster.

Everyone's staring at her now, wide eyes. She smiles back tentatively at first and then that smile becomes a triumphant smirk.

Maybe it's the smirk that does it. The others flee, not keen on facing the wrath of a Slayer who'd defeated their leader.

She murmurs, "I'll give them a day."

†

Angel's immediately at her side, his hand gingerly touching her neck. "Are you okay?"

"Tired, beaten, and bloody, but I'm doing good." She hugs him, looking accusingly at his face. "You said you'd stay home. Remember, dusty-Angel dreams?"

He lifts an eyebrow. "I don't recall saying anything. I just remember being knocked out."

"Hmph…" She draws close to his chest, inhaling his scent. To think, she was so close to losing it tonight. "I'm glad you came."

He rests his chin on her head. "I am too."

His eyes scan the factory. "We should get home before anything comes back."

†

On the walk home, she's silent, lost in thought. She came so close to losing her life tonight. She wouldn't have minded a while ago; it would've been a discharge from her duties, a release from a grim world.

But she has Angel.

The Master isn't the only threat. He's probably not even the biggest one humanity has to fear. One day, one of those bigger baddies will squash her. One day, the string will slip from her fingers and she'll be dead.

Or it'll be Angel – his body finally dust.

She remembers her wish and makes a new oath.

†

They sit on his bed. He's bandaging up her wound and she's still revolving this new promise in her mind.

When he's finished, she turns and stares into his eyes. They're lit with raw passion and she knows that hers are the same, if the fire burning under her skin is any indication. Her hand lifts to caress his cheek.

"I love you."

She kisses him, slow and deep, and when she's done, he responds, "I love you."

As she leans in again, pushing him down on the covers, he asks, "Are you sure?"

In response, she kisses him again.

†

She's a bit hesitant once their clothes come off, a mix of fright and excitement coloring her passion. He's gentle with her, murmuring sweet exclamations of love. They take it slow and she rides on a river of passion.

Then they go faster and she's lost in the rush of love and ecstasy. Past and future are erased – all that exists is the two of them, wrapped up in one another. They move together, two beings as one. For that moment, there are no painful memories, just love, warmth, and acceptance.

There's only one thing to call this.

Perfect happiness.


	17. This Time of Year

**Characters: Buffy, Oz **

**Pairing: Slight Willow/Oz**

**Setting: Post-Chosen, not S8 compliant **

**Warnings: None**

**Additional Notes: Buffy and Oz encounters are fun. And since I've seen so little of them in fanfiction (if anyone knows any good, non-romantic ones, let me know and I'll grant you virtual cookies), I wanted write a post-series encounter. It's shorter than I planned it to be, but this worked out well. **

**Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns them, not me. **

**This Time of Year**

Buffy swung the scythe around, bisecting one of the mauve-skinned demons. Another two filled its place, teeth gnashing and strings of saliva flying. Again, she swung the scythe, grimacing at the pus that spurted forth.

From the corner of her eyes, she saw one charge at her from the left. She turned to meet this challenge, noting only at the last moment that a different demon had snuck up on her right. Her body tensed for the blow, ready to counter, but it never got there.

Instead there was a loud growl and a thump. Buffy focused on dispatching the one from the left before turning to see what had happened to her other attacker. It was busy wrestling a furry beast, the two rolling and clawing at each other.

It was hard to tell, what with all the flailing limbs and the darkness, but Buffy thought her furry savior was a werewolf. The werewolf had ended up on top and he now buried his teeth into the demon's throat.

Licking at his jaws, the werewolf turned to her. He cocked his head, panting slightly from exertion. She thought he was smiling, but she wasn't an expert on werewolf expressions and this one seemed rather inscrutable anyway.

Familiarity crept up on her. "Oz?"

The werewolf nodded.

Buffy grinned. "It's been a while. You've got your wolfy side under control now." The werewolf nodded once more.

Hoisting her scythe on her shoulder, she gestured to him. "Come on, let's head to the house. We can clean up and then catch up over food."

Together, the Slayer and the wolf headed to the large mansion where the Slayers lived.

* * *

><p>After showering and getting dressed, they sat together at a table with tea and cookies. Buffy told Oz everything that had happened in Sunnydale since his final departure from Glory to the Trio to the First. He sat in near-silence, offering comments and asking questions here and there. He let her gloss over certain details, gave his condolences for her mother, and stilled when she talked about Willow going to the dark side briefly. Then she related the final year of Sunnydale and their subsequent relocation to Scotland where the Slayer headquarters had been set up.<p>

Once she finished, Oz gave her a brief summary of his travels. He'd gone everywhere or so it seemed. Eventually he'd learned control from a group of Tibetan werewolves who'd taught him not to fight the wolf but to accept it. It'd taken a lot of effort, but here he was, in control of the wolf.

Although Oz hadn't asked, Buffy finally said, "She's not here."

Oz nodded, his face not revealing any details. "I didn't come here just for her. I wanted to see my old friends again." Though they both knew she had been his primary reason for coming to Scotland.

"She'll be happy to know you've got the wolf under control."

There was a lapse in their conversation. Oz was staring off, face unreadable but Buffy bet he was thinking about Willow and what it would be like to see her. She waited for him to speak, but when he didn't, she finally broke the silence.

"Where will you go?" Buffy asked before adding, "You could stay here. We've got room for a werewolf and the girls will love another man around." And Willow would eventually come by – though she didn't voice that thought.

"Nah, I'm a nomad now. I like traveling." He paused. "I think I'll head to Istanbul."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Istanbul?"

Oz smiled, a small, secret smile to a conversation Buffy wasn't privy to. "I hear it's lovely this time of year."


	18. Unraveling

**Characters: Buffy, Hank**

**Pairing: None**

**Setting: Post-Prophecy Girl **

**Warnings: None**

**Additional Notes: Yay! I have free time! I have a lot of fics lying around waiting to be polished up, so hopefully there'll be a few more updates on the way. Here's what will probably be the only sympathetic fic I'll ever write about Hank Summers. Because, grr… **

**Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns them, not me. **

**Unraveling**

He'd been excited to see his daughter again. He'd thought she would feel the same. And certainly, she had greeted him with a big grin. However, the car ride fell silent far too quickly for his liking. Where was the babbling teenage girl?

"How's school?" Hank began, trying not to remember slipping grades and burning buildings. That was of the past, he told himself.

"Good."

She was distracted – he'd seen that immediately – and for whatever reason, her eyes gazed solemnly at the landscape.

He tried again. "What about your friends? Willow and Xander, right?"

Last time they'd seen each other, she had eagerly told him about her school and friends.

"They're good."

Time to change tactics.

"Your mother told me you've been staying out of trouble. She told me things are good here."

She nodded her head slightly and made a noise of acknowledgement in the back of her throat. He wondered if she was angry with him.

"I've missed you."

This, at last, got her attention and he cheered as she turned her head and smiled. "Me too."

Then, something outside the window caught her attention and she looked away. He glanced out the window, but there was only a graveyard. Nothing special… except that it had widened the chasm between them for some indiscernible reason. Was it a boy's fault?

"Have you met any boys?"

"No one special."

He didn't understand. Yes, he had split with her mother, but she'd been fine the last time he'd visited. She hadn't been distant or indifferent to him. She'd been happy to see him like any normal girl.

Now… now there was something different about her. He couldn't put his finger on it, but she had changed. If he didn't know better, he'd say she'd gone through a war. Of course that was ridiculous. Teenage girls didn't go to war.

He decided to take another stab at conversation. Maybe, just maybe, she'd let him in.

"Buffy," he waited to make sure he had her full attention (or what she was willing to give at the moment), "are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

After that, it was just easier to stop trying.


End file.
